


Mirror Images

by TaraRhyme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Canon Manipulative Behaviour Though, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Drama, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Gryffindor Harry Potter, Hogwarts First Year, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mentor Severus Snape, Mirror of Erised, Parental Severus Snape, Severus Snape Adopts Harry Potter, Severus Snape Has a Heart, rectifying bad decisions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29578731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraRhyme/pseuds/TaraRhyme
Summary: When Harry Potter finally arrives at Hogwarts, Professor Severus Snape is drawn- unwillingly- into his orbit. He will find out there is more than meets the eye, and Harry will give an adult one more chance to prove trustworthy.This year's batch of students will mark a new era at Hogwarts, that's for sure.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter & Voldemort, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, as per the expected
Comments: 20
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another work in progress? Pshhhh

Professor Severus Snape slid his finger in a soothing, repetitive motion around his goblet. The first years were being ushered in by Professor McGonagall, gawking at the ceiling and the House tables, eyes full of nervousness and yet, wonder. It was the same each year.

However this year there were two faces amongst the throngs of new students that Snape knew would claim his attention soon enough – one face was familiar; one infamous. But he brushed aside his faint curiosity to study the latest DADA teacher at his side.

"Are you well this evening, Professor Quirrell?" Snape's tone was openly mocking, he could admit. He saw Burbage shoot him a disapproving glare- she had taught Quirinus, she was biased.

"S-sorry? I... I'm quite f-fine, Severus!" Quirrell stuttered, clearly startled. Then again, he always was these days.

"You seem unnerved. And to think classes haven't even begun," Snape purred.

"N-no! It's s-simply the s-start of n-new t-term is s-so exciting, don't you think?" the man's right eye spasmed, especially eager to stop looking at the dour Potions Master.

"Mm." Snape was not of the same opinion, and he gave a cursory evil eye to the plotting teenagers that filled the Hall.

As a matter of fact, Severus Snape had always detested Quirrell. He was a stammering and _simultaneously_ overconfident bookworm that was nearly as incompetent as that nasty cow, Trelawney. Who, he could see, had once again managed to avoid the Welcoming feast. Apparently large crowds clouded her Inner Eye.

Snape often took perverse pleasure in intimidating the bashful man, even when he once was the Muggle Studies Professor. But now, he, above Snape, had secured Defence Against the Dark Arts.

But something about Quirrell had changed over the summer... something Snape couldn't quite pin down. He only knew the man felt different. There was an unfamiliar air about the teacher- as if he were concealing secrets behind that mild expression. Once or twice, Snape had thought he glimpsed cunning in the man's darting eyes, but that must have been a trick of the candlelight. That godawful new stammer was far too distracting for him to look closer.

He couldn't imagine that the ineffectual idiot was any sort of danger, except as a shoddy Professor, but Quirrell's altered bearing made the Potion Master's senses tingle with vague menace. Snape knew better than to ignore his instincts entirely. He had not survived his part-time service to the Dark Lord by sheer luck...

Quirrell would bear watching, he decided.

The Sorting Ceremony was just commencing as another odious Hat song wrapped up, and Snape followed the DADA teacher's gaze as the first Gryffindor– a girl with frizzy hair – was sorted. Minerva McGonagall finally came to the first name of consideration in Snape's book.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Snape watched the Malfoy boy's angular face as the Sorting Hat loudly proclaimed,

"SLYTHERIN!" after barely touching Draco's shiny, blond head.

 _That's no surprise,_ Snape thought, giving him a slight nod as the lad jumped off the stool and went to the Slytherin table. _Too pretentious for his own good, if Lucius has set any example, and far too confident. That swaggering walk, so reminiscent of his father._

Snape had been a frequent guest at Malfoy Manor during Draco's childhood, and he had made a point of establishing some example to the boy that wasn't the cold, distant airs of his father. He knew there was a sharp mind behind that arrogant face and Snape was determined to draw it out. As Head of Slytherin House, he would have the opportunity to influence him, and he hoped to undo at least some of the damage Lucius had done to Draco's character.

Perhaps he could keep the son from making the same mistakes as the father, and the mistakes Severus had done himself.

Snape's thoughts were so focused on Draco Malfoy he almost missed _that_ name when Minerva called it out.

"Potter, Harry."

A ripple of chatter rose from the tables, craning necks kept forth. Even the staff at the Head table perked up, attentive. There was a shuffle in the middle of first years, then a boy stepped forward.

Snape didn't know what he had expected, really, but it hadn't really been this... this waif-like, embarrassed-looking child.

Potter was shorter and skinnier than most of the other first years. He seemed hardly big enough to get onto the stool, but managed. Snape got a quick impression of wildly curly black hair and glasses too large for a pale face... then the boy sat, his back to the Staff table, bony shoulders drawn into himself. Thin arms were rigid, and his small hands gripped the seat so hard his knuckles were white with tension.

Snape leaned forward curiously to see him from the side. Potter's eyes were squeezed shut in fierce concentration, and he looked to be silently chanting. A long, hushed pause heightened the suspense, everyone in the Hall seemed to be holding their breath.

 _What is taking so long?_ Snape found himself eager as the rest, hands in tight fists.

Finally that annoying voice cried out,

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Snape told himself he was not interested, or worse, disappointed. Certainly, any Head of House would have welcomed the prestige of the famous boy hero... but this was James Potter's son, after all was said and done.

 _Of course he'd be a Gryffindor- just like his father and,_ Snape added unhappily to his own thought, _and his mother._

He watched the child wiggle off the stool and nearly skip over to the Gryffindor table to be greeted by his new housemates. People were chanting for Merlin's sake, and he was being grabbed at by every Housemate that could reach.

Snape observed Minerva's tight smile that he knew to be of pride, and snorted in disgust.

 _So now it begins_ , he acknowledged. _Five minutes in the school and the child's already being treated like a celebrity._ He glimpsed the boy's eager face through the crowd of students and grimaced with distaste. _Frightfully unkempt... poor eyesight... need for crowd theatrics– a Potter certainly!_

Determined not to spoil his appetite, Snape ignored the Gryffindor table until after his salmon and rice had been spooned onto his plate. He began to eat with his eyes carefully aimed at his plate and nowhere else. Out of misguided politeness and a bout of overconfidence, Quirrell made a few attempts at conversation, which Snape completely ignored.

As he sniped at the man to _leave him be_ for a final time, his glance happened to fall on the Gryffindor table for the second time that evening, just as he had been avoiding. The Potter boy was looking up- in fact, he appeared to be peering directly at the Potions Master. He spoke to the older Weasley boy, then stared at Snape again. It was the first clear view Snape had gotten of the boy's face.

 _Messy hair– round glasses– vague little smile, more of a smirk... James Potter all over again_ , Snape realised irritably.

He spoke to the older Weasley boy, then stared at Snape again. It was the first unobstructed view Snape had gotten of the boy's face. For a moment, as the boy turned to the Head Table, he looked past the glasses, into green-grass eyes.

Snape frowned to cover his discomfort, purely reactionary. Everything faded away except those familiar eyes. he could almost see red hair framing a freckled face that was smiling at him, _him_ \- and saying " _Sev! Come over here, no Mary doesn't mind-"_

Then he saw the boy's brows furrowed in anger, and he saw again the black framed glasses and blacker-still hair. A small hand rose to rub fitfully at the scar hidden behind curled bangs, but the eyes continued to meet his, unwavering. Snape swallowed hard, agonised by the sudden lump in his throat. 

Fearful that his past was too clearly written on his face, Snape did the only thing he could- he scowled fiercely to establish himself. The green eyes blinked, but didn't look away as he'd wanted.

To his shame, Severus Snape was first to break eye contact. He sat mute and grim, Quirinus finally silent besides him, his sour expression concealing the pain underneath.

Snape glowered at his now half-empty plate, pushing rice around mutinously and silently plotting.

 _Enjoy your adoring masses while you can, Potter. You'll find your fame will not sway me. Let all the rest spoil and treat you, but your cocksure attitude won't aid you in my domain, I promise you. When I'm done with you, boy, you won't even dream of pulling one over on anyone ever again._ _I'll eradicate that Potter attitude, once and for all._

Said Potter was gaping wide-eyed at the heaping platters before him. Snape couldn't resist looking up again. His mouth was open, slack-jawed, as if he were in delayed shock. He was piling up on every helping he could, slices of each delight in sight.

_Look at that, you'd think he's never seen food!_

He was glancing around, watching uncertainly as the rest of the table ate noisily, his own plate cautiously guarded between two narrow arms.

 _Deplorable manners_ , Snape noted spitefully, as the boy began hastily shovelling what looked to be half of the feast into his mouth, as if afraid it would disappear as quickly as it had appeared.

As the Hall finally cleared out it left Snape sliding his finger in a soothing, repetitive motion around his goblet, far more glumly.

_Those eyes. He couldn't shake the feel of them._

_Now that he could remember just exactly what they looked like._


	2. Chapter 2

Professor Snape's first years opening speech was a masterpiece of well timed theatrics. Yes, it was always the same words, but he liked to think with age he had become increasingly more intimidating and awe inspiring.

He saw Draco Malfoy lean forward in his seat, ensnared, and had to suppress a look of satisfaction.

Naturally, the only student who appeared completely unimpressed was Harry Potter. He hadn't even seemed to acknowledge the Potions Master, preferring to doodle aimlessly in his schoolbooks, it looked like.

"Potter," he barked. 

He challenged the bratty little thing, making sure it was nearly out of his depth. His lacking responses were dauntless, and he looked utterly disinterested in Snape. In fact, his behaviour toed the line of insolence when he suggested the girl next to him should answer in his stead. To make it clear he wouldn't tolerate such attitude, he took points, privately both enraged and surprised by his bravery.

Then again, it was the prized trait of a Gryffindor.

When the Longbottom spawn melted his entire cauldron, Snape whirled on the unsuspecting dolt across the aisle.

"Potter!" He barked again, and blamed him. He was fully aware it was unjust, and took great joy from it as his Slytherins hissed with laughter at the indignation on the spoiled child's face. He nearly argued before the orange mop next to him elbowed him harshly.

At least that one has some self preservation.

Snape dismissed the class with another sneer for Potter, who scurried away without a glance back.

The Wizarding World's wonder boy had no idea who he was going up against. Snape would never, ever succumb to the boy's conceitedness, fame, money, or stubbornness- he swore it to himself.

_He would also overcome his weakness to those eyes._

When his gaggle of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor third years ambled into class with the sad resignation of veteran Potions students, Snape drove any thought of the uppity boy out of his mind.

Out of mind, out of sight, all was well for the time being.

* * *

"Sixteen points, Professor Snape?" McGonagall called from further down the hall, 

"Professor McGonagall," Snape replied smoothly. "What a keen eye you have."

"It's the first day!" Minerva hissed. "Classes have barely begun! How on earth can you reason this?"

"Ask your Gryffindors, not I." Snape offered with no small amount of pleasure. "It's a burden your House has so many avid rule flaunters."

"You find teaching a burden," McGonagall eyed him with cool annoyance. "feel free to take it up with the Headmaster, _not_ take it out on my students."

"I am a paragon of equality, Professor," Snape said with an oily smile.

"Oh you don't say, Severus." She gave a familiar snort of disbelief. "Now I feel assured all is as it should be."

Snape seated himself without preamble, not deigning to answer. Minerva took her own seat with a harrumph and a disapproving glare he was well used to before he became a Professor.

"How is Draco Malfoy adjusting to Hogwarts, Severus?" Minerva asked after a moment's silence, her curiosity getting the better of her as it usually did.

"Like a merman to freshwater." Severus glanced over at the students slowly filling the Slytherin table. "He's spoiled... but as you know that has long been a concern of mine, nothing new. He's made friends quickly."

"He reminds me," Minerva said carefully, "terribly of his father." Severus knew she did not mean this to be a compliment.

"Draco has had no other role model but Lucius," Severus agreed neutrally. "Some degree of separation may do them both good."

"I'm sure you'll be a good influence on him, Severus," she said lightly.

"I believe I may have that opportunity," Severus shrugged. "He's not hopeless, and he has spine somewhere underneath that bravado."

"Your position as Head of House was not lightly earned, Severus," Minerva said in a rare display of genuine affection. "If anyone can get through to him, you will."

Snape snorted. "I don't know about that. I just don't want Malfoy- and others- to follow in the footsteps of their fathers."

"I think there is nothing you cannot succeed in once you've set your mind to it."

"Don't expect miracles, Minerva." Snape said without any of his usual bite, and the wry twist to his mouth felt defeated.

* * *

The Potions Master was enjoying an uncommonly warm first week of September. The unrelenting sunshine drew him out of his dungeons, particularly on the Friday afternoon, after his NEWTs students had their lesson.

He strode across the Transfiguration Courtyard, making for the Ruined. He knew the first years were having their first flying lesson- at least he remembered just as he was about to walk out onto the field.

Snape wasn't a fan of flying, never was. He would end up thinking about the ground and how far away it was. He preferred the convenience and speed of apparation or floo travel.

When Neville Longbottom sailed into the sky, he wasn't entirely surprised. The boy's lack of skill seemed to be in every class and not just potions. He say Hooch take control of the situation and was glad he'd managed to walk across some afternoon entertainment.

The boy was lucky it was only a wrist he broke, with how he was shrieking and jerking about.

As the flying instructor herded Longbottom away, Snape intended to find a peaceful and empty courtyard, but was stopped in place by raised voices. _Familiar_ raised voices. 

If he was correct, Draco Malfoy was starting a shouting match. Now that simply wouldn't do.

It was, of course, Potter he appeared to be standing in front of. Draco seemed to be holding something out of reach, and the only boy that could rival him in spoiled ness was demanding he give it over.

Entitled.

Snape smiled involuntarily when Draco took to his broom, agile and trained from years of practice at the Manor. The boy'd always had a knack for it, despite his mother's fawning and his father's haughtiness over the sport.

Potter proceeded to shrug off his housemates and shakily clambered onto his own broom, and with no skill but a shitload of control, nearly careened into Draco before swooping around to spin in front of him.

He had to admit Potter was fairly talented, despite his inexperience. Malfoy lost his surety, and Snape saw the split second he made up his mind to chuck the little object as far away from himself as he could, before flying down to the training ground again.

Stupid, stupid Potter immediately spun to dive after it.

 _He's going to kill himself,_ the Professor realised. He was zipping at breakneck speed for the tower, uncaring of the nearness, straight for that little thing that was still falling in a graceless arc.

With as much intent as he could muster, he cast a layered cushioning charm at the stone, safe in the knowledge that Potter would no longer kill himself but only be humiliated when he bounces off the tower.

Instead of that, he saw Potter reach out, nearly unseated from his broom, then execute an expert pivot halting mere _inches_ from the charms he'd conducted. Snape, in spite of himself, was awed.

The boy swooped down to his cheering Housemates, sunlight glinting off the small object in his hand, Draco scowling at the boy's success.

Once his heart stopped beating out of tandem, Snape's anger began to swell. _Of all the idiotic- he could've died? Has he no idea how dangerously fatal that was? If he hadn't swerved in time? And if I hadn't been here to cushion the wall... he would be dead! Just like that..._

Snape found himself trembling with anger and fright. He straightened his shoulders, and took a controlling breath.

Time had come for him to make himself known, but as he prepared to stalk down the yard he spotted Professor McGonagall strutting over. She descended upon Potter instantly with a feral gleam in her eyes, cheeks rosy with a rage that Snape had rarely been able to coax out of the woman.

"Never-- in all my time at Hogwarts--" McGonagall was nearly speechless with apoplectic anger. "Potter! Follow me now!" She whirled and marched back toward the tower.

The boy's triumph was short-lived, and Draco gave him a snotty look. A now mortified Potter trailed after his Head of House, those thin shoulders slumped in dread.

 _Serves the show-off right._ Snape approved of him being caught, only a tad let down he couldn't ream the child himself. _He's in her house, all said and done. She should establish the expectations._

* * *

"McGonagall!" Snape's angry bark caused a startled hush to descend upon the staff room as every head turned to stare at him.

"Yes, _Professor_ Snape?" Minerva answered primly.

Severus ignored the mild rebuke in her tone and dropped into the chair beside her, lowering his voice. The other teachers returned to their own conversations. "Excuse me... _Professor_ McGonagall... please tell me that the rumour I have heard is untrue," he snapped.

"Well, that depends," Minerva frowned. "Which rumour are you referring to?"

"Tell me you did not _reward_ Potter's theatrics on the quad by _appointing him_ to the _Gryffindor Quidditch team_?!"

Minerva frowned. "Don't be absurd, I do not reward or condone recklessness. I have assigned lines regarding his irresponsible behaviour. Although, he did it in defence of a friend."

Snape nearly rolled his eyes, likely story.

"Of course I also assigned him to the team."

 _"What?"_ He snarled.

"I take it you saw his flying? He's a natural born seeker with those reflexes, hah!" Minerva gushed happily. "And to think he's never flown before- it's miraculous, nothing short of miraculous."

"He's a first year!" Snape protested.

"Well, given Harry's extraordinary aptitude, Albus has agreed "

"That boy is spoiled enough as it is! Making exceptions for him just feeds his deluded notions of self-importance. I am going to formally protest this blatant favoritism, mark my words," he hissed.

"Oh, Severus, your anger seems a little extreme for the circumstance." Minerva said sweetly. "Are you concerned about the Cup?"

"That's not the point I'm making." Snape snorted.

The thought had occurred to him, but he wasn't going to admit it, and it was not why he was mad- it was _Potter._ Being rewarded for foolhardy behaviour! Ha!

"You know, Professor Snape," she murmured slyly, "You really should be more careful. You sound nervous."

"I am not concerned by any paltry competition, Minerva. I merely object to the preferential treatment Potter receives."

"I'd hardly call encouraging his talents _preferential treatment_ , Severus. Hogwarts has always recognized and honored students with exceptional abilities," Minerva chided. "We are allowing Harry to join the team based on aptitude. His unfortunate celebrity has nothing to do with his potential as a Seeker."

"Ah it's just a cute coincidence, I can gather." Snape replied snidely.

"Perhaps not," Minerva conceded. "It is more likely his talent is hereditary. As I recall, his father, James, was a fantastic Seeker. Nearly never lost a game."

Snape swallowed the frustrated shout, _it's not fair! They overlook the danger of these 'allowances', just like for his father before him!_

He rose from his seat without another word, too embroiled in the past. It was his favourite place to linger.

He levelled with McGonagall before absconding. "James Potter was an insufferable braggart with little to no thought for consequence! Consider what good his skill on a broom did him in the long run, before trying to churn out a duplicate in his son. Or perhaps the nostalgia is too good for you, Minerva." He stalked for the side door, not looking back.

"Nothing ever really changes," Minerva spoke aloud to herself. _That's what he believes... James reincarnated. He is certainly hypocritical to be thinking of others' faults. Merlin knows, Severus Snape has plenty of his own._

However she, like the Headmaster, had been largely ignorant to the bullying that made up his youth. Sometimes she did feel the guilt of it, wondering if with more guidance Severus wouldn't have drifted down such a dark path... and James, perhaps, would be here today.


	3. Chapter 3

Severus Snape had informed Dumbledore of his sixth sense with Quirrell, just in case. The Headmaster was such a clever man, with a very well guarded mind, that Snape could not tell what he thought of the allegation. He knew better than to think he was being disregarded, even as Dumbledore drew patterns in a shallow sandbox on his desk.

This man had a coolness to him that the Dark Lord had rarely maintained, and he took his time to approach situations. Smartly. And privately, Snape believed if the Dark Lord was marginally more like Dumbledore, he would've been _too_ successful.

His Lord's impatience was the only thing that ever belied his relative youth.

"I may be irritated with the man and that may make me more prone to think badly, as it always does." Snape admitted. "However it remains that his behaviour is arousing my suspicions. _Never_ have I made it secret that Quirinus irritates me, even when he held the Muggle Studies position. Now he incessantly- but also subtly- seems to seek my company despite it. A new development. There are no reasons I can fathom, Dumbledore."

"Of course Severus, I suppose it would be wise to remain alert. If anything shifts in a manner that you find troublesome, do tell." The Headmaster stopped drawing shapes in the sandbox, folding his hands neatly in front of him. "But as I recall, you mentioned another issue at hand?"

"Harry Potter," Snape said quickly, as if he couldn't remove the name from his mouth quick enough.

"You don't say," he lightly raised an eyebrow. "I've heard nothing but good about all the first years- although Neville Longbottom really does seem prone to melting things, and that Seamus Finnigan has a nasty knack for fire."

"He's been acting abnormally as well. I believe he is planning something, or has done something worth investigating."

The Headmaster regarded him without a word.

Snape shifted in his seat and continued. "I don't know precisely- "

"Severus."

"I don't _know_ what he's planning," he stressed. "But it's certainly something. He watches me when he thinks I'm not looking and he looks inordinately _guilty_ whenever I am near. It's suspicious."

Dumbledore tried to suppress a smile. "I don't know many who can withstand your impressive glare without baleful misery, Severus. Your ability to terrify and subdue the students is renowned, as you approach them all with a guilty verdict."

"A stance that only does good."

"For who?" The Headmaster said mildly. "But no matter. You must not be so expectant, children are easily impressed upon. They, once given an expectation, will fulfill it."

"When that boy gets himself into another death defying scenario, Headmaster, I cannot always be there."

"Interesting point."

"He shows defiant attitude," Snape continued, bristling from the brush over of Potter's odd behaviour. "Boundless arrogance, disrespect, and thinks himself above the rules. If you think that not troublesome Dumbledore, I cannot help you."

"Personally I find him to be a reserved, quiet boy. That Ron Weasley does most of the talking." the Headmaster said. "In fact I feel confident in saying he does little to nothing to indicate anything of likes you have implied. The boy is eleven, Severus." He gave a stern look over his glasses. "Should I call the Aurors right now, or wait until the delinquent's twelfth birthday? Give him some time to stew?"

Embarrassment snuck up on the Potions Master. "Headmaster-"

"You are being obvious," the man interrupted. "You are a man of no insignificant intelligence, do not embarrass me by pretending otherwise. This is odd to bring to me, and completely out of your character."

"We all know mine and yours' difference in opinion of my _character_ ," Snape said with an empty smile. He nearly found this funny, but not quite. "The boy- I was not advising to have him arrested- _he is stubborn_!" He snarled. "He is flippant and has no care for the world he has such an important role in!"

"Harry was raised by Muggles. If you find him naturally unfamiliar with the Wizarding way of life, understand that. Again, stop being obvious. You are living in the past, Severus."

"I never stopped," the man hissed before jerkily standing, and defensively wrapping his cloak tight. At the very least with Albus Dumbledore you could be frank, without running the risk of a Cruciatus bout, or better yet, untimely death.

It was a luxury he didn't mind using, and the Headmaster let him leave without another word.

As he made his way down the wide stairs, his morose thoughts were distracted by a group of young boys coated in red and tacky gold-yellow. From the courtyard they were trouping in, and he saw off to the side of the group Potter himself. The others were pushing each other, laughing, but Potter immediately looked up was if sensing the eyes on him.

The boy frowned at him.

"Stop that racket!" Snape barked and the whole crowd jumped. "Get to class!" The Gryffindors scattered with a litany of "Sorry, sir!" "Yes, sir!", sufficiently cowed but sounding quite upset about it.

Only Harry Potter stood still a moment longer, his frown darkening before he too disappeared into an adjoining corridor.

_The arrogance of a child, so proud- thrilled really, to show disobedience. What a remarkable example of immaturity. I know better than most, Potter, that you are partial to the devious. I will not allow you to run these halls._

With this silent vow, he continued to his own office... ignoring the sneaking tendril of concern, overwriting it as mistrust.

* * *

Harry was sure that no one in the world had worse luck than he did.

Today was Halloween, which was normally a holiday that lots of boys and girls liked. Harry never felt much about it because he'd never been allowed to go trick or treating like Dudley. He didn't really understand the concept- it was a tradition from the United States that involved knocking on people's doors and demanding sweets.   
  
He frankly thought it was the perfect holiday for his cousin.

But this was his first holiday in the magical world of magic, and the feast looked absolutely magical. No really, it did. There were enchanted carved pumpkins that would growl menacingly or hiss and spit seeds, and the candles were of black wax that burned orange. The array of themed foods had lively bits to them that Harry didn't feel like questioning. 

He'd been nearly certain the bats chittering and swooping up and down the tables were real, and then he saw Percy Weasley catch one and rip it's wing off with his teeth. It made a very suspicious crunching sound and a shriek of despair, but the Prefect looked unbothered.

Weird.

But all of this wonderful stuff was not what made Harry so sure he had terrible luck. It was the fact that he couldn't enjoy any of it, because he found out that wizards and witches don't celebrate Halloween- only muggles do.

"Blimey, what'd you think?" Ron said through a chicken leg. "This was the night you did it! You-Know-Who finally gone." 

Harry felt first uncomfortable that they were all celebrating his abilities as a murderous baby, and then totally awful as he realised what it meant.

His parents had died today.

Harry had never know that, and everyone was having a grand party about the dark wizard who died. Not the people who died fighting him, like Harry's parents. They seemed to have fallen to the wayside.

So when Quirrell ran in a tizzy into the Great Hall shouting about a troll, Harry was glad to have a reason to leave the feast.

"Wait-" He tugged Ron's arm.

"What?"

"Hermione," Harry said urgently. "She doesn't know."

They shared a look of consternation, before making a break for the girl's bathrooms.

If Harry thought he had bad luck on Halloween, he was certainly about to have it proven. 

* * *

"Urghhh, troll boogers." Someone laughed at that, nervous and high.

Those completely inappropriate words came from a bathroom without a door, just down the hall. Snape, McGonagall, and Quirrell had made good haste to dash over- McGonagall entering first. Not necessarily because she was faster but, well, it _was_ the girl's bathroom.

His eyes were drawn first to the prone form of the mountain troll. Laying amongst rubble and with its thick ribs rising and falling faintly, he saw that it was unconscious, but alive.

A cursory look at the room revealed nothing more than the obvious destruction weld. Water was spurting from smashed pipes and bits of sink and toilet were everywhere. The cubicles had been crushed.

The two boys standing together looked a little tired, but not worse for wear. Their robes were filthy and ripped, but not their arms or legs or faces. An odd relief spread over Snape as he catalogued no injuries, miraculously.

They only looked nervous when Minerva demanded an explanation.

"It was my fault."

Severus gaped at Granger, who crawled out from beneath the sinks to take the blame.

_What in Merlin's name could she be talking about? What could explain this away?_

He glowered while Granger credited Potter and Weasley with making the best of a bad situation. They'd become trapped in the bathroom after they'd come to get her after the feast, and the boys fought back. She looked confident... which was the first sign she was lying. The girl was mess, still shivering from the attack. But suddenly as these words flowed out, she looked like all was well.

But then what was she hiding? There was indeed an unconscious mountain troll, three times the height of a man, and three unharmed first years.

Whatever else they were obscuring, these _children_ had defeated a strong, magically-resistant creature.

Normally, Snape would have argued Minerva's lenient treatment of the reckless miscreants. But he was too shocked to protest. He stared at Potter and Weasley, grudgingly impressed and equally enraged by the situation. The children left, followed by Minerva, and Snape assigned cleanup to Quirrell. The man could do with a little work for once, and there was not much trouble the man could get up to with a concussed troll.

He limped back to his House to check on his Slytherins, taking his time settling the anxious teenagers. They were instructed to enjoy the feast contained to the common room, and if anyone left, the consequence would be dire. He was glad to learn no one had gone for a jaunt in his absence. Until the dormitories quietened, and the festivities settled, Severus could be found in his private quarters.

If he was needed in emergency, the Prefects knew what portrait to alert.

After locking his door, he shuffled into his tidy lounge and eased himself into the worn leather chair by the fire.

Snape lifted his robes gently and examined the gruesome ashes on his leg. He grimaced, summoning some salves to ease the throbbing and stinging. He'd already stemmed the blood circulation but not permanently. He knew that was a matter of a healer, like Pomfrey. For now he would leave it be because he was stubborn, and didn't wish for a student to come across him in the hospital wing. Rumour of him being not entirely impervious would spread like wildfire.

He sighed heavily.

He had warned the Headmaster, hadn't he? That boy was up to no good. Nothing good could come from an attitude like his.

Raised by excessive adoration, tales of his own exploits greatly exaggerated- it was bound to lead to dangerous behaviour.

Severus Snape was rarely ever wrong.

* * *

"Hey, Hermione?" Harry called after her. She stopped on the girls' dormitory stairwell.

"Yes, Harry?"

"That was seriously awesome, what you did. Don't know what McGonagall would've done if she'd known me and Ron went in after the troll." Hermione flushed.

"Well you did it to save my life," she said shyly, coming back down the stairs to him. The fire was low but still burning as ever in the common room, giving it a warm glow. The rest of the House was bustling about, or half unconscious in a food coma. Ron had completely disappeared up to the dorms, looking to get Scabbers. No one had thought to ask them where they had been- yet. "I couldn't let you get in trouble for saving my life. What if you couldn't find a teacher fast enough?"

"Glad we did, um- that we lived and all. That you didn't die, and that we're all good now." Harry looked at her earnestly. "Ron didn't mean to be such a prat, honestly. He just forgets to think sometimes. Actually pretty often. But he's a cool guy, you'll get on."

"That'd be nice," she said slowly. "And you and I, we're friends now, right?"

No one had ever asked Harry that before. Technically he considered Ron to be his first ever friend, but they'd never talked about. 

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah, definitely."

Hermione gave a very strong smile. "If you don't mind terribly, we could stay down here and eat together."

"Sure," Harry went to get some plates as Hermione secured a small couch just big enough for them to squeeze onto. It was more of an armchair, but it was a very big one and they were very small.

"What're you reading?" He asked politely, although he wasn't too interested. It was just that it seemed to be the only thing the girl did, and he didn't know what else to say. Weren't they supposed to be eating together? Why was she reading?

"I'm not reading," she said, but flushed again. "It's my diary, I like to write things down every day, especially if something important happened."

"Oh," Harry was embarrassed he was wrong. "That's, um. And today, especially? Lots to write down today."

"Oh yes," she said, dipping a quill in an inkstand on the side table. "I'll start eating in just a moment, but I want to do this while the memory's all fresh."

"Does it help?" Harry asked curiously. "When you write stuff down, does it help you remember or something?"

Hermione put on a thoughtful face. "Sort of. It's most useful for understanding stuff about yourself, and the things that happen to you. It's also helpful when you need to go back to something that's happened before, or a specific moment you can't really remember."

"I guess that's pretty cool," Harry said, completely truthfully.

She gave him a sideways look, but eventually seemed to take him at his word. She started frantically scratching at the journal with her quill before absentmindedly saying, "You know, you should try it."

"A diary?" Harry said skeptically. "I think that's for girls, isn't it?" Hermione huffed, but saw Harry didn't sound condescending, only confused.

"You don't have to call it a diary," she said. "You can call it whatever you like... journal, or um, a log."

"A log?"

"A log, like a thing that you fill out," she said.

"Scabbers' been hiding in the fifth year's dorms," Ron said grouchily, having approached from behind. "Missing Percy, it seems."

"Hi, Ron," Hermione said, considerably more timid.

"Hey, Hermione," Ron said offhandedly. "Can I have your biscuit, Harry?"

"This is the last biscuit."

"I'll just _levitate_ it, then-"

Harry lunged away from the other boy, wide grins on all three of their faces- the girl curled on the armchair, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will remember you, Crowley's_Scared_Plants

"OUT! OUT!" Snape shrieked in such a way that even he wilted inside. The boy, _Potter of course_ , stammered nonsense before bolting away with the image of his ashen face imprinted into Snape's mind.

"P'fessor," Filch said, accompanied with a low, toothy whistle. "That was impressive."

Snape seethed in silence as the caretaker fumbled back to his seat.

"P'fessor?"

"Argus," he snapped. "I- of all the students to have seen- blasted Potter- "

"Ah," the grim man said. "A troublemaker, that one?"

"Like none these halls has seen," Snape said darkly. "Or on his way to becoming so. Who's he to be snooping around in the teacher's rooms?"

"Nobody," Filch growled in agreement.

"The nerve of that cretin! " Severus raged. "The absolute audacity- that's all he has! Spades of it... I'll show him..."

The Professor had gotten up to pace angrily, ignoring the shooting pain. Filch thought he looked rather funny, but knew better than to cross the completely qualified Dark wizard.

As a peace offering, he said, "Give him a detention wif' me, and I'll see it done he gets a right good kicking. I have my ways, don't you worry..."

The man stopped his painful pacing to give the caretaker a once over.

"I can deal with this accordingly. Thank you, Argus, but I have ideas already _brewing_." The smile on his face was truly chilling.

"Well the boy won't know what hit him," Filch said conspiratorially, before slipping out.

Snape felt a small sliver of unease at the ease camaraderie that Filch acted upon with him. He remembered the man from his own school days, and he hadn't been nearly as grouchy then- but then again, his wife had been alive.

Now he was more of a ghost than the ghosts, a walking symbol of misery that Albus Dumbledore felt some measure of responsibility for. So he remained to taunt and terrorise the students, and to be fair it did provide good incentive to follow the rules.

But did Severus Snape truly want to be considered on the same level as Argus Filch? He was verbose, rude, biting- but was Severus truly cruel to the students? He didn't think so. A little bit of taunting grows thicker skin, and Merlin knows that wizard kind cherished their offspring to the point of spoiling.

He'd never seen the benefits of such an upbringing, and certainly experienced the opposite. He would never wish his childhood on another, knowing what turmoil it can sow, but he didn't think complete coddling would result in anything better.

Maybe sometimes he resented it a little, that he never experienced the coddling of a common wizard child. He deserved it as much as the next, but his mother was emotionally weak and a potions addict. She stayed with a muggle man that embodied the opposite of love for wizardry. 

Maybe Severus didn't know anything at all about children, and that was the crux of it all. But the fact remained that he was unsettled by Filch's alliance with him. The man had sought him out more and more the past couple years, speaking like old friends, or comrades in arms.

For some reason as he smoothed down the fronts of his robes, Potter's deathly pale face flashed over his mind. There had been shock, sure, a healthy dose of fear, and almost- dare he think it- _concern_ , for the large, bloody wound the boy'd seen.

The way the boy fled, cringing in on himself... he could still see it. No doubt the child had little experience with punishment or scolding. The yelling must've been quite the shock. 

Snape began to stalk his way down to the dungeons, still feeling unsettled. In all truth, he'd felt unsettled since the troll. Maybe even earlier. Maybe since that thrice-damned Potter walked into the Great Hall, eyes wide with wonder.

Students spread like the sea around him, ducking their heads respectfully or nervously, depending on their standing with him.

It did make him feel better to take points from some loitering Ravenclaws, who were rightfully indignant. He had indeed, made up the reasoning as for why ten points needed to be snatched. 

The teachers' pets' would have them back in a class, anyhow.

Once in the dungeons, he let himself admit internally that he shouldn't have lost his temper like that. Shouting, yelling... it reminded him of his father, and he was nothing like Tobias. He preferred quiet and peace, and would never strike a woman or child to assume superiority based on his own feelings of inferiority.

He could hiss, snarl, snark- but he would never make someone cower at his feet as he lost all semblance of humanity. To incite that kind of terror- you have to be a truly cruel man. The little _extracurriculars_ that some Death Eaters had taken part in, as an abuse of their power, made Snape's lip curl. The Dark Lord himself was known not to necessarily condone it, but he did not care to intervene. The man, of course, was lenient to those of use to him.

Severus sighed upon entering his quarters. The boy had him thinking of his days under service of the Dark Lord already.

It was impossible to explain to Dumbledore, or anyone in the Order, and perhaps even to anyone else who also served the Dark Lord Voldemort. It wasn't some campaign of terror- that was the symptom not the disease.

Not that any of it mattered now, or in the long run, or even to Severus now. He had, along the way, lost a part of himself he wouldn't ever get back. He never took advantage of the power his service to the Dark Lord afforded him, but in the end he was still a force of destruction. Just like the rest of them.

 _Lily,_ his mind whispered cruelly.

His mind also brought the picture of Harry Potter's frightened, pale face to the forefront of his mind's eye. He picked at invisible lint on his robes, and tried to brush away the discomfort of that particular child being afraid of him. Then again, it was terribly funny. It _was_ , it really was; all the children found him to be the boogeyman of their school years. He relished the role as they got older and more resigned to the caustic remarks and tense class environment. He couldn't go making exceptions for a boy who already got all the exceptions in the world, just because he was thinking of his best friend.

 _His dead best friend_ , his mind reminded cruelly. 

"Sir?" Came the voice of the last person he wanted to hear from, in his doorway. "Well, er, I came to... that is... I'm- "

Professor Snape slowly raised his eyes to meet those of Potter's, as the child rambled nonsense. "Detention," he enunciated slowly, relishing it. "Seven this evening."

"I'm- what?" Potter looked astounded. "Professor?" The boy seemed to be in some state of shock.

"I would suggest not being late," the Professor offered. "Celebrity doesn't excuse tardiness anymore than it does arrogance."

The boy frowned, opened his mouth as if to say something, thought better of it, and left the way he came.

Silently.

* * *

"What'd he say?" Ron looked a little terrified by the Professor, but Harry wasn't going to say so to him.

"Nothing important," he sighed, flopping down onto a very plush armchair he tended to favour in the common room. "He gave me detention. Tonight."

"Detention? Harry what did you do?" She sounded scandalised.

"I haven't done anything!" He exclaimed. "I swear, he _hates_ me. It's weird."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione's tone was patronising. "Professor Snape doesn't hate you. He treats everyone like that."

"Everyone but Slytherins, you mean." Ron argued. "He's such a Slytherin!"

"What he _is_ ," Hermione stressed. "Is a teacher! He deserves respect and- and we have to listen to him. Sorry, Harry, but even if he's strict he's probably got a very good reason for giving detention, don't you think?"

"He does hate me. He's always picking on me, always me! He's hated me from the first moment he laid eyes on me," Harry protested. "You must've seen it by now, Hermione. He goes out of his way to make me look bad. And it's all for no reason. He's just like the muggles!"

"Are you sure you haven't done anything today?" She asked hesitantly, carefully avoiding the 'muggles' topic but he saw her lips purse. They'd had an argument a day ago about it, and she was doing shockingly tactful. Harry also noted she didn't offer any more argument against Snape's bad attitude.

"Nothing! He didn't even tell me why he gave me detention. He didn't even let me speak- all I did was go to apologise for surprising him. He just _looked_ at me, all angry like usual, and said 'detention' and that was that." Harry rubbed the back of his head tiredly. "Oh, and something about arrogance! I guess I'll find out tonight."

* * *

Harry Potter was five minutes early to his detention, lingering in the classroom doorway with a proper, resigned look. Although Snape was disappointed he couldn't call the boy out on tardiness, he was sure that the child would offer some mutinous behaviour during his first detention.

"Enter, don't loiter, Potter," he said.

The boy shuffled into the room and came to stand in front of Snape's desk, his expression fairly blank but Snape felt some curiosity and, of course, lingering resentment. Passive legilmency was limited but it did give a general grasp to the mood if there are only two occupants within a space. Useless in a classroom, very handy in detention- or a run-in in the halls with a wayward student.

Snape fixed his gaze on the parchments he was meant to be grading and ignored the boy for several minutes. Then he spoke without looking up, "There's a stack of cauldrons waiting to be scrubbed at the back of the room. My second years. I want every one of them _shining_ before you leave."

Instead of the haughty enquiry or demand for explanation, or sigh of frustration... he got a silent obedience. It was a little surprising, as the boy still felt curious about something, and that jagged-sharp feeling was still there.

The boy went over to the stacked cauldrons, a mess of sticky and ashy.

That wouldn't entirely do- the boy did have to know that Snape knew exactly what sort of character he was. That he was being punished for his actions, that _it wouldn't fly with him_.

"You are being punished for a deplorable lack of decorum," Snape said conversationally, still marking up the parchment. "The teacher rooms are clearly marked throughout the castle, and are not available to the students at any given time."

"I wasn't meaning to go in," Potter said obstinately. "I just wanted to-"

"Go in? Which you did? If you had needed something, Potter, you could've employed knocking. You have been taught knocking, haven't you boy?"

"I knocked." Potter said this very, very quickly and quietly. He didn't turn to look at Snape anymore.

"Of course you did," he said, saccharine. The boy's shoulders tensed, but nothing else was forthcoming. Snape looked back to the parchments but not before saying, "The muggle way, Potter. Scrubbing with those tools, I'm sure you'll figure how to work them. No magic, or it's a week of this."

"Yes, Professor," the boy sounded like he was talking through a clenched jaw, and Snape smiled to himself. Children really do need some discipline. A bit of cleaning never went astray in his books. But then the brat had the audacity to ask so innocently, "How's your leg?"

"My leg is nowhere near the _realm_ of your business," He snarled lowly. "And do not address me so ever again, Potter. I am your Professor, I am 'sir' at the very least."

"Yes, sir," the boy bit out while dipping a sponge in cleaner and water.

 _The nerve of this boy to even mention the leg_ , he thought incredulously. _He must really feel untouchable._

Still reeling from that audacity, Snape watched the boy dunk his entire forearm into water and cleaner.

"You're washing the floor at this rate!" He barked. "Take off the robes, Potter. Hang it over a desk," he ordered irritably.

"Yes, sir," the boy said again, a little too cheeky but not enough for Snape to call it out.

While Potter scurried to obey, Snape gaped at the boy. He was dressed in trousers so baggy it could've been loose cloth just tied together by that odd string belt the boy'd fashioned around his waist. The dull, faded grey shirt was no better. It swallowed the boy, making him look barely his age, if that. He looked like a dirty, careless heathen with the rips and tears and comically sized clothes. 

"What, _in Merlin's name_ , are you wearing?" Snape smiled nastily. The boy looked the very definition of hoodlum. There was no way he was up to any good looking like he spends his free time roaming Jikler Square down Knockturn's parts.

Potter glanced down at his outfit (if anyone could call it that) and gave a careless shrug. He smiled in a way that was very disturbing to Snape. "Oh, er, my clothes," he said. "My muggle clothes. The older students said I would probably have to clean during detention. I didn't want to get my school clothes all dirty, er, sir." he added hastily.

"That explains nothing, Potter. You look like a street rat, you do realise." He said with a little bit of glee. "What exactly were you hoping to accomplish?" Snape's voice gained an edge of danger that had Harry nervous.

"Er, sir?" Potter hedged.

"Are you playing street rat?" He repeated. "This isn't your home, Mr. Potter, this is a respectable school of highly talented wizardkind. All students are expected to dress appropriately– _even_ during detention!"

"I'm sorry, sir!" The first true sign of temper lit on Potter's face, which was now turning a shade of pomegranate. "These _are_ my clothes – they're all I've got!"

"Absurd fashion choice- to think your guardians let you live like this is appalling! Just traipsing around like this, it's absurd," Snape repeated. Truly, the boy's clothes were absurd. 

"They were my cousin's, until he outgrew them," Potter muttered defensively. "They didn't fit him properly, see?"

Snape eyed him furiously, but felt no lie. The boy's mind was either stout in its conviction, or he was a secret Occlumens.

Wouldn't put it past the Potter...

"I didn't reckon that it would matter, as long as I wore my robes, sir. And I always do wear the uniform- usually- and I could go back to the dormitory and change if you'd want, sir," he said sullenly.

"No need for you to make an escape," Snape spit out. He slid his wand into his hand and stepped briskly forward. "I certainly have a solution for this hoodlum display." He brought his hand up to grab hold of Potter's shirt's limp, wet sleeve but he must've moved too fast. 

Potter cringed back, throwing up his other arm to shield his face, shoulders drawn up. Snape froze, frowning, but said nothing as Potter slowly lowered his arm again. Then he proceeded to spell the boy's sleeves dry and have them charmed to stay rolled up. Like this, the boy's arms looked disturbingly thin, delicate.

"Now," he said into the awkward air that had developed. Potter had taken on a weird look in his eye, and Snape's passive Legilmency told him the boy was embarrassed and angry and something else, something cloying sweet, in a bad way. "Try not to soak yourself or the floor, Mister Potter, and proceed."

"Thank you, sir," Potter murmured, though he clearly didn't want to say it, once Snape had returned to his desk. _At a safe distance_ , he thought wryly.

Snape ignored the boy, returning to his grading. _The nerve_ , the child thought that he would hit him? He was prickly, Merlin's sake, not a sadist. He never had raised wand or hand in harm, not even when sorely tempted as a Professor. He didn't have a desire to hurt others.

 _Some would disagree_ , his mind whispered. 

Either way, he didn't like that physical response from Potter. It was a tad too extreme, and very concerning that he so quickly had subdued the child into thinking the very worst of him.

The boy didn't speak the rest of the night, only nodding when his Professor told him to leave for curfew.


End file.
